The People's Man
by ComradeTrotsky101
Summary: "Lamarque, his death is the sign we await. The people's man, his death is the hour of fate..." Enjolras is shot and stalked by the police. No relationships, no language. Kind of angsty. I really like reviews, they make me happy and wanting to write more. MASKEDMAN2, WHERE DID YOU GO?
1. Chapter 1

**Here we go.. second fanfiction! Classic Enjolras sickfic... R&R. Ha ha,** _R_.

They're speaking and reading the flyers Gavroche is passing out. Enjolras looks around carefully and then begins to speak again.

"The time is coming again for France..." He's so caught up in his words that he doesn't even notice the man creeping up behind the podium until it's too late.

Enjolras is shoved from the box and onto the ground as the police officer yells for the crowd to disperse.

"You'll have the law to reckon with, all of you!" Enjolras jumps to his feet and shouts out; "Stay strong!" He's thrilled to see all the people raise their fists and stand their ground. More cops are coming, guns drawn. It's riot material. Flyers are waving. A woman holds her baby up above the crowd and the baby screams louder than anyone else in the crowd. Enjolras almost laughs.

Then the policeman fired the first round of bullets. Enjolras steps in front of the crowd and yells for Gavroche to run. There's a pinch in his lower leg that he barely notices. The baby's still screaming... until it's not. The woman has pulled the little girl down to her chest, and the bullet hits both of them. They drop to the ground, dead.

The energy of the crowd turns dark and angry, hatred sweeping through all of them. Enjolras narrows his eyes.

"You will not get away with this-" He sways and falls to the ground. Only then does anyone notice the blood filling his boot, seeping onto the ground.

For the golden leader, all is dark and calm. There's nothing, no one but the velvety black silence.

xxx

It's getting late. Combeferre is studying, getting nervous. Enjolras is NOT late. Grantaire is sleeping it off next to him, slumped on the table with a bottle of something next to his hand.

Combeferre decides to give his friend ten more minutes- no, five. He keeps reading, drumming his fingertips on the table. He has read only a few sentences when Gavroche comes to mind. Where is he?

Grantaire coughs and sits up.

"Uh... God, this place is stuffy. I'm out."

"You? Can you even walk in this state?"

"You sound like Enjolras."

"Hm."

Grantaire sets off through the door, gait only slightly off. Being drunk is just like being sober for him, his system fairly used to the loopy feeling of alcohol.

He decides to walk to the square and back to clear his head a little more, maybe see if Enjolras and Gavroche are still there. He pushes his curly black hair out of his eyes and thinks about the cafe and the stairs that happen to be rotting. Maybe he'll help with that this weekend, if he's not too drunk. He's learned his lesson about using a hammer the morning after consuming a full bottle.

Grantaire stops, all thought process ending in his mind. The square is a bloody mess, people and blood scattered all around.

"Enjolras?" No one answers. Grantaire's senses are sharpened, adrenaline rushing through his body. There's a red jacket, wide collar ripped. Blond hair falling across his face, slumped on the ground. "Enjolras!" Grantaire runs over and kneels down next to his friend, his idol.

"Wake up, come on." Enjolras doesn't move. Grantaire shakes his shoulders. "Please, don't be... dead...thank God!" Enjolras has opened his eyes halfway.

"Christ, Enjolras. You're shot, how did this happen? The police? Okay, okay." Grantaire watches his friend carefully. Enjolras grabs Grantaire's hand, cutting off his circulation.

"Make it stop, R. Please, please. I got shot. My fault. They died, they both died. The policeman..." Enjolras shakes so hard that his teeth chatter. His leg is soaked with blood.

"How long have you been out here?"

"Don't know... Grantaire, please make it stop!" He's gripping Grantaire's hand even tighter. Grantaire isn't a doctor, but he can tell that Enjolras has lost an extremely life-threatening amount of blood. Enjolras's breathing is slowing.

From listening to Joly and Combeferre talk medicine, Grantaire thinks that the wound is badly infected already. It's lying directly on the dirty Paris street.

Grantaire reaches into his pocket and pulls out his half-full bottle of brandy, the one he likes to keep around in case. _In case..._

"Enjolras, I know you don't drink but you have to. It's going to make the pain stop. Okay?"

Enjolras nods. He insists, in a sort of unspoken way, that Grantaire can't help him drink it. He leans his head back and drifts off.

Grantaire chews his lip as he feels Enjolras's hand grow limp and his pulse slow.

**Do you like it? PLEASE REVIEW!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here we go... Enjolras gets sicker and sicker... CLASSIC SICKFIC! This could get long. R&R!**

Grantaire licks his lips and tries to collect his thoughts. Enjolras is out like a light, leaning on the podium. He's still bleeding. Grantaire knows that if something isn't done soon, Enjolras will die. But he can't leave him alone. The police are probably looking for him and he could be dead when Grantaire gets back.

It's a bad idea, but it's all he's got. Maybe... Grantaire nods, determined. He slides his arms under Enjolras's limp body and picks him up like a child. Enjolras is surprisingly light.

Grantaire looks around him. No one, at least not living. He sets off, somehow no longer staggering with drunkenness. Grantaire can't remember ever feeling this kind of fear and adrenaline. He's moving quickly, ignoring the weight in his arms. Enjolras's life is at stake. And Enjolras's life is, in a way, Grantaire's life and Combeferre's life. None of them have ever thought of losing him, losing their crazy friend, the charismatic wild idealistic _Enjolras._ He drives them crazy once in a while, but who doesn't? They love him, he is their friend, and there is no way he is going to die.

Grantaire starts to run, bootsoles smacking the cobblestones and ringing out into the silence of nighttime Paris.

xxx

Combeferre has given Enjolras his five minutes. He's packing up his books when Grantaire's voice comes from the doorstep.

"COMBEFERRE! OPEN UP! Christ, open up. He's going to die!" Jehan yanks open the door. Everyone stops and drops whatever they are doing. A bottle smashes on the floor. Courfeyrac jumps down from the table and runs over.

"What happened?"

"Police shootout. He's shot, he's lost a lot of blood, and it's probably infected." Combeferre takes a deep breath and points at the door.

"We have the secret apartment thingy out there, get him in there. Joly. Get your medical bag. Grantaire, did you give him anything? Brandy, absinthe?"

"Yes, some brandy. He was in a lot of pain, is that okay? He was basically out of-"

"That's fine. Great. I need him awake, if you can do that, that would be great."

"Right." Grantaire carries Enjolras to the little apartment in the dead end alleyway, just across the street. They have rented it as a stash house and a good place to hide out.

There's a little couch right in the door, and Grantaire lays Enjolras down on it. He looks so helpless, in his drugged state. Just lying there, not talking, not standing on the chair with a flag.

Combeferre steps inside and then waves Grantaire out.

"Get blankets from Madame Hucheloup. Don't talk about why. She'll get it." Grantaire races out the door.

Combeferre sits down and remembers telling Grantaire to wake Enjolras up.

"Enjolras?" He shakes his friend lightly. "Enjolras, wake up. Please." He shakes him harder.

Enjolras opens his eyes halfway. They're cloudy and confused. Combeferre feels guilty for getting ready to drug him even more, on harder stuff than even Grantaire would touch.

"There you are. You're okay now, Enjolras. I want you to tell me where you're in pain, okay? And please don't act all tough. I'm not going to believe you. I need you to cooperate. Okay?"

Enjolras nods.

"My leg. Got shot. I think... my arm too. Not sure. I'm bleeding. Head hurts. That okay, 'Ferre?"

Combeferre smiles.

"That's great. Thank you. There's a bullet in your leg that we're going to take out. That's going to hurt. So therefore, I'm going to give you something called Laudanum. It does not taste good. You will feel dizzy and sleepy, and it won't be particularly pleasant. But it will be so much better than if we take it without the drugs." Enjolras nods and takes Combeferre's hand.

"Can you let go?"

"Yes."

"Sorry, I just need to check out the bullet wound." Combeferre slices away the fabric of Enjolras's trousers up to the knee. He's still bleeding, although less. The bullet is visible, blackish gray against red. The bitter irony of the colors strike Combeferre, but he pushes it all away.

Enjolras closes his eyes, trying to take himself away from the pain and the fear of what is going to happen to him. He's almost asleep. Combeferre pours some medical alcohol onto a clean rag, and sets it next to the Laudanum and the tweezers.

Joly opens the door, medical bag in hand.

"I have needle and thread." Combeferre nods. "I'm not letting them in. Grantaire will drink, Jehan will cry... you get the picture." Combeferre nods again.

He pours the Laudanum into a spoon with shaky fingers. Enjolras has given up to the help, and given up to the pain.

"Okay, now comes the hard part. Bite down on the cloth. I am going to hold your hands, and Joly is going to pull out the bullet. It's going to hurt. Just trust us, okay?" Enjolras bites the cloth tightly as Joly first cleans the wound with the rag and then picks up the tweezers.

"I'm going to count to three. Okay. One...two...three." Joly yanks the little metal bullet free and Enjolras tries to scream, tries to bolt... until the drugs and the pain both set in... and he collapses, caught by Combeferre.

It's over at last.

**Done, done done. YES! I shall continue, review and add ideas PLEASE!**


	3. Chapter 3

**It's summer, and I've been in and out of home with camps and travel... et cetera. So, I'll try to update when I can. Please read and review, reviews are amazing and special. Pardon my little knowledge of medical practice in 1832. :)- ComradeTrotsky101**

At long last, Joly opens the door.

"He's asleep. If you really need to come in, you have to be totally silent. I am not kidding. If you wake him up, you die." They nod in synchronization. Everyone crams into the apartment and sits down somewhere.

Grantaire taps Joly on the shoulder.

"When's he going to wake up?"

"Whenever the drugs wear off. Laudanum plus alcohol is pretty powerful. I'd say sometime around one in the morning, about that."

"What exactly happened?"

"They shot him in the leg, that's the bad one. He has a concussion and his arm, right below his wrist, also took a bullet- but that one didn't stay, and I don't think it's infected. Right now, we wait. His fever isn't too high right now, but it's been climbing for a while. 102 right now."

"It's 102? And you call that not high?"

"Compared to what it might get to..." Joly sighed. "It won't do anyone good for you to stay up as well."

"Joly, the police are looking for him. I mean, they're really mad. I saw... They literally have wanted posters up already. With his face. And we're all trapped in this apartment not able to do anything."

"Grantaire?"

"What?"

"Have you been drinking since... since Enjolras got hurt?"

"Not really, well, I woke up drunk. I don't feel sober, but well..."

"I get it." Both of them fall silent and eventually Grantaire drifts off into an uneasy sleep.

xxx

It's two in the morning when Joly shakes him awake. Grantaire blinks the blurriness from his eyes and looks around him.

"He's awake, and Eponine's here with food." Grantaire stands up. Eponine has laid down a random assortment of stuff on the table. Enjolras is sitting up. Joly groans.

"Why are you sitting up?"

"I saw you get him up." Enjolras's voice is crackly and hoarse, and it reminds Grantaire of himself when he's hungover and tired.

Enjolras looks awful, red-rimmed eyes and a streak of his own blood across his face. His curly hair is flattened to his forehead, sticky with blood and sweat. But Grantaire has never been happier to see him... which says a lot.

"You look... sick." Enjolras smiles.

"I'm okay."

Joly rolls his eyes.

"Actually, you're not. You need way more sleep than this, and I think you also need to drink some water. Now."

Enjolras sighs deeply and closes his eyes. "I'm not thirsty."

"Yeah, well, that doesn't matter. You're dehydrated right now."

In the end, Enjolras accepts help and drinks a little water. He's annoyed and cranky. Grantaire can see that he's in pain and won't admit it. There's also something he's trying to avoid...

Grantaire would have asked him if Enjolras hadn't fallen asleep again.

He'd have to wait.

**So, this is chapter 3. Things get more interesting in the next chapter, with the police and Javert and other characters... like more Combeferre. This is turning out to be a pretty Grantaire-centric story... well, we need more of those. Happy August 9th... there's no reason for saying that. Go enjoy Mountain Dew, people! And have some bread with it. -ComradeTrotsky101**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks SO MUCH to TheMaskedMan (I think that's your name), everyone who reads this, try to find that person and be nice to them. I will use some suggestions... and guess what? If you review, I will try to thank you BY NAME. So... Big drama in this chapter.**

The apartment is tiny, just a few rooms. Everyone is trying to make themselves comfortable while not seeming to weird. They've had to stay inside most of the time due to the police and how odd it would seem to have eight or nine people living in a miniscule apartment together.

Enjolras had been asleep for almost twelve hours now, breathing fairly steadily. Joly had been coming up with new organizational systems almost hourly. Jehan came into the apartment around six in the morning with five pounds of muffins. Feuilly then weighed all the muffins to determine their weight. Grantaire drank coffee to stay awake. Eponine ran all the way to the university to tell everyone's professors that Rene Enjolras was sick and his friends were helping out, so they would miss class but turn in assignments. Courfeyrac ate ten muffins in a row and then accidentaly cut himself on a shattered coffee mug. It was getting obvious how cooped up everyone felt.

Combeferre was sticking it out the best. He cleaned up the shattered mug and the muffin paper, and washed out all the dishes. He cooked pasta for all of them when they got sick of muffins at hour seven.

That was what the last twelve hours held, and now they were clearing hour thirteen. And running out of muffins.

Enjolras blinks and stares at the gigantic pile of trash in the corner just across from him. He's freezing, and that's why he's woken up. Probably.

Joly has fallen asleep, face smashed into a medical textbook. Coffee didn't do it. Enjolras almost laughs. Hey, his leg hurts. A lot.

"Christ." He's shivering. The blanket's not enough. Enjolras weighs the options. He's cold, but he doesn't really want to walk on his leg. Well, he can tough it out. The closet's right there, in the little hallway.

Enjolras tries to get up, but falls back. His arm doesn't really feel great either, and he can't focus on why. He's cold. That's important.

So he gets up, kind of falling onto the coffee table. His vision is blurry and almost doubled up. Wow, his leg really does hurt. Is it...? Enjolras shakes his head to clear it and immediately wishes he hadn't. That's one bad headache. Why does he feel so awful? And cold. Right, that's why he's sitting on the floor in the first place. He uses the edge of the table to push himself up to standing on one leg. He's feeling really dizzy. Maybe... NO. Enjolras tries to limp and finds it the most painful thing he can remember. Why? And why would he be sleeping on a couch?

This is just too confusing. Enjolras decides, slightly rashly in his mind, to tough it out. He's clear on that his leg is bleeding... In the hallway, he grips the doorknob and finds himself too weak to turn it. At that, his ears are ringing and his leg is _killing _him.

Enjolras's vision grows black and he feels himself falling, crumpling to the floor.

xxx

Joly can see a little picture of bacteria when he wakes up and peels his face off the book. He looks around him, blinking the blurry sleep fuzz from his eyes.

"Enjolras?" Joly's eyes widen and he swears. He jumps to his feet. "ENJOLRAS!" There he is, the idiot. He's lying in the hallway, out like a light... and bleeding through his pajamas and onto the floor.

"COMBEFERRE! R! GET UP EVERYONE!" Joly's kneeling, trying desperately to revive his friend. He places his hand on Enjolras's forehead and yanks it away.

"He's burning up, everyone, get out here!"

**Kinda short chapter, but I have to give the computer to someone else now... CLIFFHANGER! And sorry about no police stuff, that might come soon. More stubborn Enjolras though. And muffins. REVIEW! I will thank you!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay, this chapter will be long (I hope). Enjolras is stubborn. The police come up with a plan. REVIEWS PLEASE!**

Combeferre was asleep. He's now running out to Joly, terrified of what has happened. Everyone is waking up, frightened and coming up with theories to what went down.

They can see Enjolras lying in his own blood on the cold hallway floor. Joly has taken the thermometer from his pocket and is waiting for Enjolras's temperature to show. Gavroche is holding his sister's hand. He's clearly scared. Seeing Enjolras so helpless and weak is enough to scare anyone, even a hardened street urchin like the little boy.

"106. Good Lord. Combeferre, can you get a cold washcloth? Everyone else, I know you want to be there for him and help out, but the less people there, the better. Stay in the hallway. Thanks. Okay." Joly carries Enjolras back to the couch, just as Grantaire had the day before. Everyone is confused- why would Enjolras be in the hallway bleeding to death?

Joly unwraps the bandages around Enjolras's leg. The stitches have burst in a few places, from Enjolras walking even a little on his bad leg. They were just to hold the wound together until Joly could put more attention to it, and look what Enjolras has done. He has to have been delirious with fever to have tried to get up. Classic Enjolras, to tough it out and nearly kill himself. Joly has never felt so frustrated with his friend.

Combeferre tosses Joly the washcloth and Joly folds it and lays it on Enjolras's forehead. He tosses the bloody bandages in the wastebasket and takes up the needle and thread to re-sew the bullet wound.

xxx

Inspector Javert slides the papers into the folder carefully, his mind on something else- but for once it's not 24601. It's the boy. It's the revolutionary, the one who's face is plastered on Wanted posters all across Paris. The one's he's supposed to track and claim. The boy's bound for the firing squad. That is, if they get him. The riot was the last and most important on the growing list of Rene Enjolras's crimes, and his ticket to death. Or, thinks Javert grimly, at least life in jail.

Javert takes out his folder on this _Enjolras. _He was shot at the riot, and then disappeared. So his friends may have gotten his body, or gotten him- alive. The way Javert sees it, their government will need something to parade through the streets. There's no way to sugarcoat it, even for the most strident royalists. They need the appearance of having taken the leader and done away with him. Cutting the revolution off at the root, letting it shrivel up and die. A few days ago, Masson and Javert had been talking about the revolt. Masson had said something that had stuck with Javert- "Christ, they're doing it again." It- being the revolution. It was true, France had had a lot of revolutions and rebellions in the past fifty years.

It's raining, fat drops that pelt the frosted glass windows of the police station. The people walking outside are just blurry shapes. An older teenage girl and her father or grandfather are standing by the bridge and talking. Both of them seem familiar and Javert rolls his eyes at himself.

"Inspector." It's Masson, and Claudelle. Javert nods and spreads out the papers on his desk.

"Pull up a chair." They do and scan the papers in silence.

"I think, personally, that he's out there messing with us. If he was already dead, we would know."

"Apparently he looked dead at the riot."

"If I lie down on the floor and hold my breath, I look dead too."

"Fair point. Check the Cafe Musain- We know they go there. Then check the area, look for suspicious activity. Cover a good bit of Paris from that spot. We can lock the city down, similar to the time in '23 with the wacko and the kid."

"Oh, yeah. The wacko. The wacko Javert's stalking."

"I am not _stalking _him."

Masson laughs.

"Sure. Just get a patrol out. We'll go from there."

xxx

Enjolras is half-awake as Joly wraps his leg in bandages. He's exhausted and cold. Where is that blanket he thinks he got? And why is he back on the couch with half his pant leg sliced off? And why is he covered in blood?

"Joly?"

"Oh, God. You're awake. What?"

"Where's the blanket I got?"

"You never got a blanket, Enjolras. You tried to get up and passed out in the hallway. Why did you do that? You burst three of your five stitches."

"I was... I was cold. Didn't want you to hafta get up." His voice is slightly blurred and sleepy.

Combeferre sighs. He's pouring another spoonful of the Laudanum.

"I hate to do this, Enj, but you really need to take this. It's... pain medication." Enjolras tries to clear his head, but the ringing in his ears persists. Pain medication...

"No! I am not going to take that. I AM NOT." Everyone else in the hallway can hear him shout out his protest and Courfeyrac groans.

"He's partially back to himself. He's yelling at them." No one laughs.

Enjolras shuts his mouth and glares at both Combeferre and Joly.

"I am not taking that."

"You have to. I am not kidding. Stop being tough and see a little sense." Combeferre sticks the spoon next to Enjolras's face. Enjolras narrows his eyes even further. He tries to swallow and ends up coughing- he's coughing blood onto the blankets now. It's a horrible racking cough, shaking his whole body. Combeferre sets the spoon down and puts his arms around Enjolras.

"Look, I really just want what's best for you. I know you can't see logic right now, and I don't hold that against you. Please, just trust me." He picks up the spoon again. Enjolras leans back, mouth still firmly shut.

So Combeferre resorts to his final option. He pinches Enjolras's nose shut so he can't breathe, and finally shoves the medicine in his friend's mouth. Enjolras chokes and coughs, until he swallows and falls back onto the pillow.


	6. Chapter 6

**Here we go... number 6. REVIEW PLEASE! I know people read this...**

Combeferre can't look his friends in the face without feeling a sick wave of guilt. Enjolras is going to hate him for what he did... He tries to shake it off, this feeling. He can't. Combeferre finds himself sitting next to his friend's bedside staring at Enjolras's angry face, even asleep.

"Combeferre, stop blaming yourself. It had to be done. He was delirious and not thinking straight." Grantaire realizes how odd it is that he is the one reprimanding Combeferre, not the other way around. Well, _odd_ seems to be a common theme in their lives right now.

Enjolras rolls over, facing away from them now.

"He's my best friend, R. This is incredibly hard for me. Imagine Bahorel like this for you. Enjolras and I have known each other since we were ten years old. That's eleven years now. And now he's dying. Yes, he's dying. I have no idea what we can do without sending him to the firing squad. He needs a doctor, not two medical students with some textbooks and limited supplies. Joly and I are not prepared. We might have cops outside our door right now. I cannot let him die one way or another."

They sit in silence for a few minutes until Grantaire realizes that Combeferre is crying. It's not like Combeferre to cry. Grantaire has seen Enjolras in tears, back when they were eleven and in school together. Since then... Never. Combeferre was the one who buried his face in a book when he was upset. But now his shoulders are shaking and tears are running down his face.

Grantaire puts one arm over his shoulders and holds him as he cries, never asking why. Just letting him cry out. Combeferre is always the one who brings Enjolras back to earth, pulls him away from the cause and the goal to make him see the present, make him see the joke or the happy little moment. Grantaire never realized how much Enjolras needed Combeferre to be there, almost like Grantaire himself needed his golden leader. Combeferre is always the one who supports Apollo, shows him the way and makes sure the man of marble never cracks.

xxx

Javert is standing with his patrol on the street, watching the apartment buildings. There are just so many... How can they search them all? He sighs and points the patrol toward the nearest building.

"Is there a Rene Enjolras in this building?"

"Excuse me, madame, we're looking for a man... a boy really..."

"Have you seen a Rene Enjolras? Red coat, tricolor pin..."

"Open up!"

xxx

Enjolras can hear shouting on the street, someone yelling open up across the street. He doesn't understand, and doesn't really want to. He just wants to find whomever gave him that stupid Laudanum. So Enjolras opens his eyes and comes face to face with the couch pillow. He rolls over and sees Grantaire sitting with Combeferre on the coffee table. They're talking about him, and break off when they see Enjolras is awake. Combeferre looks at his hands. Enjolras looks at Grantaire, who shrugs.

"I think we need Joly. He needs to take your temperature, okay?" Enjolras frowns and closes his eyes. It's raining, drops pounding against the windows and the roof. Grantaire gets up.

"JOLY!" Enjolras winces and burrows deeper under the sheet. He's feeling nauseous, kind of like he wants to throw up. And he's really cold. REALLY cold. Well, there's no reason he can't go get that stupid blanket. They're just freaking out. It's Joly. He's paranoid. Enjolras pushes himself up to a sitting position and tries to get up. Combeferre grabs his shoulder and pushes him back down. Enjolras glares at him and tries to get up again.

"Enjolras, no! You're really sick and hurt, what do you need?"

"I'm FINE!" Enjolras starts to cough again, and Combeferre realizes he's still coughing blood. Joly and Grantaire run back in.

"Enjolras, don't you dare get up. You cannot have another blanket. You have a fever."

"No, I don't." Joly makes a face at Grantaire, rolling his eyes.

"I know what I'm talking about here. I'm sorry, but I need to find out if you're about to die or not." Joly suddenly realizes how harsh he sounds. Enjolras looks hurt, and a little scared. All of them are silent for a few moments.

"Sorry, Enj."

Enjolras can't really think straight and he knows it. It's not Joly's fault, and he would like to tell Joly that. But somehow, Enjolras can't form the sentence right and he gives up.

Joly later discovers that Enjolras is hovering at 104 degrees. As soon as possible, when Enjolras is asleep, Joly calls his friends into the tiny living room.

"You all know that, delirious, Enjolras got up and passed out in the hallway. Obviously, we cannot have that happen again. Combeferre and I both really want to get him to a hospital- but that can't happen. The police are searching our street, all around the Cafe. Everyone's going to have to leave and, well, stay away, or stay here and be really helpful. Anyone want to go?"

No one responds. All Joly can see is a group of serious faces, determined and ready for what will certainly be a storm.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7. Enjolras-centric. **

Combeferre has been up all night, sitting next to his friend. He's been checking Enjolras's fever on the hour, every hour. It's currently at 105, frighteningly high. Combeferre pulls the cold washcloth out of the bowl and folds it, laying it on Enjolras's forehead.

Enjolras is shaking, whispering something in his sleep. Combeferre knows that his friend has always talked in his sleep a bit, and that he has occasionally given something away that he shouldn't have. But right now, he's too quiet for Combeferre to hear.

"Enjolras?"

Enjolras blinks, and opens his eyes halfway.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"_That was a rhetorical question._"

Enjolras looks caught in the act, embarrassed. Now Combeferre can see that he's most certainly not **fine. **Enjolras is gripping the covers tightly, knuckles white against the blue blanket.

"I need to see your leg." Enjolras shakes his head a bit, just enough for it not to hurt too much but enough for Combeferre to get the point.

"I'm not kidding, Enjolras. It's very clear from the way you're acting that you're in pain. I am not taking arguments about this. Seriously."

"'Ferre, I'm... I'm fine. I'm fine. Right, that."

"Enjolras, please. I need you to trust that I am going to help you here. I'm not going to make you take anything right now. Please." Enjolras looks at the floor. He's curled up slightly, the way he always sleeps. What's Combeferre going to do? Why can't he trust his old friend, his best friend? Why is everything so different now? And why does his leg hurt so much?

"No, 'Ferre. I know this. I'm okay."

"Enjolras, you're not _okay._"

xxx

Javert and Masson are checking doors, across the street from the little rundown apartment building where Enjolras and Combeferre carry on their argument.

Masson yanks the handle of one and then the other.

"Locked."

"Same here."

"Well, do we knock? Do we just bust through?"

"Knock first. I think this is a cellar. Actually, don't knock. No one takes an injured person into a cellar." Masson nods and moves out to the front of the building. It's three in the morning, when he should be at home, asleep.

"Javert?"

"What?"

"How old is Enjolras? He can't be more than sixteen or maybe seventeen."

"He's twenty, actually."

Masson stops dead, thoughts swirling. He has three children, and two of them are the age of the hunted man- no, boy. He's too young for this. When Masson was twenty, he worked in a little cafe washing dishes. He was in college, with little on his mind. It was right before the Revolution. He saw the carnage and took the side of the law, having seen them so victimized. Having seen the brutality of Robespierre and his comrades. But had he ever really considered what the revolutionaries had to say?

"Come on. We're done here." Javert motions for Masson to follow him, and Masson does. However, he stays distracted by his earlier thoughts. He doesn't want to hunt someone so young, with such a chance ahead of him...

xxx

At three forty five, Enjolras gives in. Combeferre is able to unwrap the bandages at last, to look at the bullet wound.

It's puffy and red, the stitches barely visible. The infection is worse, clearly. There is no other option right now...

Combeferre stares at the little metal bottle on the table, and the scissors next to it.

"Joly?"

**CLIFFHANGER, kind of. Sorry, short chapter. I'll be back.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Enjolras gets worse, and new Laudanum strategies pop up. Stuff happens.**

Combeferre pulls Joly aside.

"His leg is so swollen. It's puffed up over the stitches, almost. I think... I think we need to take the stitches out." Joly nods, thinking.

"He's not going to cooperate, and you know the only way to do this is Laudanum. Which, obviously, he's not going to take."

"Could you put it in a cup of water? On that thought, he's dehydrated. I don't think he's had anything to drink for two days now. Almost three, which is, as you know,-"

"I know. And there's food. I say broth. With a dose and a half of medication. Both for the infection and Laudanum."

Combeferre smiles grimly.

"Good luck."

"Are you kidding? You think he'll trust me at all? Combeferre, my friend, it's up to you."

He sighs.

xxx

Grantaire is sitting on the step outside of the apartment building with the trash bin next to him. He's supposed to be emptying it, but it's so nice just to be outside the stuffy little apartment he's been living in for three days. The puddles on the street reflect the moon and stars like little mirrors. It's going to storm again.

He's thinking about Enjolras as usual. Grantaire knows that his friend's fever hasn't gone down a bit and that Joly and Combeferre are trying to treat the infection as best as they can... And also about the daily Laudanum battles. The continuous smell of disinfectant hanging like a cloud around everything. Grantaire shakes his head to break his fuzzy gaze on the puddle and finally sees the man standing near the building, wrapped in a greatcoat.

"Hey."

"Hello." Grantaire stands up.

"Who're you?"

"Jacques Masson." The man holds out his hand and Grantaire shakes it.

"I'm Grantaire, or so my friends call me." Masson nods, studying the young man. He needs a shave and probably a bath. Grantaire looks like he's been stuffed in a box for a few days and only now released- which is pretty close to the truth. He's got a bottle of something in his pocket but doesn't seem very drunk, if at all.

He's probably in college. Might know Enjolras. But at this point, Masson doesn't care.

"You look tired."

"So do you, M'sieur."

"Well, I've been getting a bit less sleep than I usually do. On assignment."

Grantaire's defenses go up, defenses usually put to use when Enjolras asks him if how much he's been drinking.

"For what?"

"The boy. The one-" Here Masson gestures to the wall, where a WANTED poster has been hung. "-That one. Rene Enjolras."

Grantaire has no idea what to say to this. He settles for a slightly interested but not worried expression.

"Er, I guess I've been studying a lot." That's not a lie, come to think of it. Grantaire has found himself paying a little more attention to his schoolwork and less to his bottle. He can't afford to be a drudge on the group.

Both of them are silent, staring at the street and thinking about the same man, and maybe even in the same way.

xxx

Enjolras is awake, or really half-awake. He can see Combeferre standing in the doorway. When Combeferre catches Enjolras's eye, his face lights up in an unusually peppy expression. Enjolras glares. Both of them know there is about to be a battle.

"Enjolras! You're awake! That's great!" Enjolras is now doubly suspicious of whatever's about to happen. Combeferre is holding a ceramic mug.

"What's that?"

"It's chicken broth. Which you should really drink."

Enjolras is not fooled.

"That has Laudanum in it."

Combeferre struggles to keep a straight face.

"No it doesn't."

"Yes, it does. I AM NOT DRINKING THAT."

"Yes you are."

Enjolras sits up quickly and winces, tears sparkling in his eyes suddenly. He turns away from Combeferre, but not quickly enough.

"Enj? Are you... Is your leg bad?"

"_NO._"

"Yes?"

"NO!"

"Yes." Combeferre sits on the coffee table. "Enjolras, please stop being so tough about this. You need to drink the broth and you need to cooperate. I will force you to drink this. Would you prefer you do something of- actually, I know your answer to this question."

At that moment, Grantaire walks in looking slightly frantic. He's holding an empty trash can and a WANTED poster, which he stuffs in his pocket upon seeing Enjolras awake.

"Hello Grantaire! Would you like to come over here and argue with Enjolras about his health?" Combeferre sounds incredibly frustrated. Grantaire gives him a What's happening? look and sits down next to Combeferre.

"Well, hello Enjolras. How are you?"

"ABSOLUTELY FINE." Grantaire cuts him a look, raised eyebrows and narrowed eyes. Enjolras glares back. Grantaire picks up the mug.

"You should drink this. I don't get why this is such a problem."

"It has Laudanum in it. I know it."

"Enjolras, you're paranoid. Please just drink it." He suddenly remembers all the times, late at night in the Cafe Musain, when Enjolras took Grantaire's bottle and tossed it away. _Grantaire, how much have you had to drink today? Grantaire, put the bottle down! _Grantaire thinks of this and mimicks Enjolras's tone in his next words. "Enjolras, how much pain are you in?"

Enjolras knows what Grantaire means. He looks at his lap and twists the blanket.

"Fine." Enjolras takes the mug.

Maybe thirty minutes later, Enjolras is falling into a drugged sleep. He looks so peaceful, not knowing what just happened.

"Was there really Laudanum in that?"

Combeferre nods sadly.

"He was right."

"Isn't he always..." Grantaire stares at the floor. "I think something happened at the riot that he doesn't want to talk about. He's avoiding something, and I am going to find out what it is."

"Talk to Gavroche. He was there."

Grantaire nods and looks over at Enjolras. He brushes a lock of blond hair away from Enjolras's eyes and sighs.

"What do you think you're doing, Apollo?"

**So, Chapter Eight. I may have less of a chance to write in the next few days. I'm listening to the suicide bridge song thing, and I think maybe that's going to come up... with Masson being all pensive and Masson-ish... and taking pity on both Javert and the barricade boys. Don't know. Review please, they make me so happy. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry guys... I'm back. Been busy with CIT-ing at camp. Okay, you should listen to this song, Whiskey Lullaby. It reminds me of Grantaire, and there's a good fic in that song.**

Combeferre is exhausted, having finally finished taking out every bit of surgical thread in his friend's leg. Joly is cleaning the wound, which is bleeding only a tiny bit. Everyone else, as usual, is crammed in the hallway. Grantaire appears to be...studying. Combeferre is taken aback and then sees the bottle sitting next to him.

Some things change, but some things stay the same- and you never know which things will go which way.

xxx

Paris is on lockdown. Masson has decided that it's for the best. He has pushed his doubtful thoughts to the back of his mind. France can't take another revolution. It's up to the law to prevent that, and right now he's the law for that street. They're being monitored. Police ask everyone for their name as they exit their apartment building, depending on whether or not they look suspicious.

At any rate, it's a good way to get to know people (specifically blond male college students.) Masson can't believe there isn't some easier way. The atmosphere is tight and frustrated.

There's a little boy who keeps running errands for one building, buying muffins and coffee almost daily. It's been five days of this. Masson knows the social habits of building 40 like the back of his hand, the shopping days, the families, the patterns of daily life.

He leans against the brick wall and watches the sun break through the cloud cover.

xxx

Joly has created an extremely complex system for them all. Someone is always awake, making sure that Enjolras's fever hasn't spiked dangerously high, that he's not awake and deliriously trying to get a blanket.

Grantaire's sitting on the coffee table at four in the morning, drawing a hawk. He's seriously bored and still feeling the effects of a hangover. Enjolras is not dying, just sleeping peacefully. There's another pile of muffin wrappers, bigger than the first, sitting right next to him. He can't remember ever feeling as sick of those blueberry..._things _as he does now. Muffin smell is a permanent part of his life, mingling with the disinfectant and the Laudanum to create a weird mix of hospital/bakery.

Grantaire sets the sketchbook down and looks out the window. They're right next to it. There's a policeman standing in the middle of the street, staring at the sky. He looks almost as bored as Grantaire. Probably one of the guys looking for Enjolras.

Like Inspector Masson. He seemed nice, not the kind of person who would want to send a twenty-year-old to the firing squad. In fact, he didn't even seem like he wanted to. Just like he was doing his duty.

"Grantaire?"Grantaire spins around. Enjolras is awake, apparently. He's not looking too good. "Grantaire, I think I'm going to throw up."

Fortunately, Joly prepared for this. There's a bowl right next to Grantaire, the only one in the apartment not being used for muffins.

Enjolras throws up twice that night, and doesn't fall asleep again. He's just that miserable, staring off into space and not saying a word.

The next day, everyone is up and talking. They sit down to do work, in corners or on floors. Grantaire is sitting next to Jehan and Muffin Pile One, which is about the size of a sitting person.

"What are you doing, R?"

"Er... well, I'm drawing. For class. I have to draw three birds. Three! Different! Birds!"

"Drawing?"

"I have two majors." No one has ever really thought about Grantaire being in school. He is, and it's sure bizarre for Jehan to comprehend. "Art and Physics."

"You, Grantaire, are in _Physics._ And Art."

"Yes. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. I guess I just... never thought about that before. You... in _Physics._"

"Stop it already, I need to draw the stupid hawk."

Enjolras has been listening to this conversation with dulled interest. He's trying not to think about anything that would make him want to throw up again. It's kind of hard to not think about something, so he's now thinking about Grantaire, and the new discovery that he's studying art. Grantaire in art is weirder than Grantaire in Physics. The drunkard has actually always been kind of interested in that kind of stuff. But art.

This is mildly relaxing. Enjolras finds himself falling asleep at last, until a jolt of pain runs up his leg and he bites his lip to keep himself from crying out.

And then Joly's coming over wielding The Little Metal Thermometer of Death and Pain. It has been given this name by Courfeyrac when he witnessed Enjolras's partially delirious reaction to having his temperature taken. Enjolras once more desperately tries not to think about both how much his leg hurts and how much he feels like throwing up.

He places the above mentioned problems above the thermometer issue and holds the cold metal rod in his mouth for whatever time Joly deems acceptable. It could be anywhere from thirty seconds to an hour, when asking Enjolras.

"104."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Overall bad, but good in the sense that it hasn't risen."

"Hm."

xxx

Javert is staring at the brick building, four stories rising high into the Paris sky. It's got to be the culprit. Gavroche is coming in and out... They're up late into the night...

"Masson!"

"What?"

"We're going to check every apartment in this whole thing. We are going to get them."

**So... Not great. I'll try to update more now but we'll see how it goes. Things are getting more interesting... :) REVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEW!**


	10. Chapter 10

**I'm back! Sorry people. School starting and my other project... **

Eponine is doing dishes while talking to Courfeyrac about possible plans of action.

"We can't get out. I mean, we're going to be found out immediately if we try. We fit all of the descriptions. Plus, Enjolras probably couldn't make it out of this building alive."

"They're searching downstairs. The best option is to stake it out. Maybe get someone to tell the downstairs crowd to hold their own out against the police. Everyone around here is fairly revolutionary, or at least neutral. It's a poorer area."

Courfeyrac nods and shoves coffee cups into a cabinet. He can't think of any better plan.

"So, we pray, more or less."

Eponine nods.

"More or less."

xxx

Masson's son is sitting at the dining room table. He's back for a weekend, and has been called into military service for the first time. His father can't believe it.

"Henri. Do you know where you're going? What are you doing?"

"National Guard."

"National Guard!"

"Acting gunner sergeant."

Masson sighs.

"Well, I can't say I'm not proud. I'm just worried."

Worried about Henri, and worried about another young man who's path he may be soon cutting off forever. Does Enjolras have someone who's worrying about him, telling him not to take to the streets and try to overthrow the government? A father, a mother?

Caroline, Masson's ten year old daughter, runs into the room holding a thick book.

"I finished, Papa, I finished!"

"Good job, Caroline. I suppose now you want me to read it too, just like the last one." They're all laughing and talking now. The worry has been shoved to the back of Masson's mind, away from his happy family.

That evening, Masson leaves the house to continue the search. That had been his first break in a week, and he's grateful for what little time he got. But the hunt is growing ever narrower. The boy is in that building. They will get him soon.

And Inspector Masson is terrified of what will happen then. He's starting to think that they're already fighting a battle. The people of Paris are stirring, giving the searchers wrong directions and distracting the sentries. Two of the university professors have been portraying Enjolras as a hero. Probably the young man's own teachers, but it's a concern nonetheless. And what is Javert going to do when Enjolras is at last overtaken? Could Masson stand it?

The king will send the boy to the firing squad as soon as a puppet trial- Masson shakes the thought from his head. Not a puppet trial, but a real trial. Even if the trial is fair, the boy is guilty of so much. He's sure to plead guilty, too- because to a revolutionary, disrupting the peace and inciting rebellion is a mark of high respect and honor. He'll be mowed down and how will the Parisian people react? By building a barricade on the spot where he was killed. Soon it will not be just about the boy, but about them all. Everything is so much more complicated when you add a dash of revolution to it, thinks Masson. He's at the building now. Five stories. Maybe thirty or forty apartments?

He finds himself wishing Enjolras luck.

xxx

Grantaire is sitting on the coffee table with his sketchbook. The hawks are all drawn and he's busy drawing Gavroche from memory. The boy, in the picture, is holding aloft a red flag in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other.

His hand is tired, and he lays down the sketchbook and pencil. Enjolras is still sleeping, which seems to be the only thing he does lately. Grantaire can hear loud talking a few floors below. Police, probably. In their building.

Enjolras sits up, awake. He looks terrified, staring straight ahead.

"Enjolras?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." He's whispering the phrase over and over again, tears forming in his eyes. "I didn't know they'd shoot, I really didn't. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please, please just let me be. Please!" Grantaire kneels down.

"Enjolras, it's just me." He lays one hand on Enjolras's shoulder. "Just me."

Finally Enjolras's vision seems to clear, and whatever has been tormenting him is gone.

"Can you tell me what just happened?"

**I've got to go... So bye, I'll try to write more soon. Just saying, when I write fanfiction, it's consolation for me finishing my book. The one I wrote. I might tell you about it if you reviewed... :) :)**

**-ComradeTrotsky101.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi everyone! Sorry I've been gone...**

Enjolras has a pounding headache, and he's exhausted. Talking to Grantaire is definately not an interest of his right now. Grantaire recognizes this.

"Please, Enjolras." It's maybe eleven at night. Not too late, but not early. And Grantaire hasn't slept in days.

Enjolras pulls himself together enough to glare at his friend.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"About what?"

"You very well know what."

"No, actually, I don't. I can assume that it's about the riot. Gavroche didn't tell us much."

"He wasn't there."

"At the riot?"

"He was there at the riot, but he left. It wasn't really a riot anyways."

"So, when did he leave?"

"Right when the police showed up."

Grantaire can now narrow down what happened to a window of time.

"So... You saw this. You didn't see much, I'm assuming, before you passed out. What happened? I swear to God, Enjolras, I need to know. You aren't sleeping, and that's a problem. You're sick. You need sleep. Just tell me. You'll feel so much better, you won't feel guilty or whatever you're feeling. Telling people helps. You haven't really ever done this in my experience."

"Except when we were ten and-"

"You know what I mean. What happened?"

Enjolras seems to have given in a little bit. He sits up straighter and looks at his hands.

"At the riot there was a woman with a little baby. She held the baby up in the air when everything started getting intense, when the police showed up. I... it was my fault. I told everyone to stand strong, I remember. They did. And the police shot them."

"And then...?"

"And then I don't remember. I passed out."

Enjolras's voice is shaking like he's about to cry- and a tear slips out and falls onto the blanket. Grantaire puts one arm around his friend's shoulders. Enjolras in turn leans against Grantaire and eventually falls asleep on him, face stained with tears and memories.

xxx

That morning, at five o'clock, Joly comes into the living room to discover Enjolras sitting up and talking calmly with Grantaire. About school. Coherently. Not angrily or deleriously.

Enjolras and Grantaire are _talking._

And that's when, because nothing ever works out (at least that's how Joly will later put it) the neighbor yells something at the police downstairs.

"APARTMENT 19, UPSTAIRS!"

That's their apartment. Jehan comes running, along with a terrified Combeferre holding an open textbook.

"That's us, that's us. What are we going to do? What are we going to do here, everyone?" Combeferre is flipping out. Enjolras is ashen-faced and scared. He grips the edge of the couch and stands upright, leaning on the table for extra support.

"We're going to face them. I'll take what's coming. Look, it was stupid. I-" Combeferre is nodding, and he hold his best friend tightly, holding him up. Enjolras is still wearing the shirt and trousers he was wearing for the riot. He looks almost normal.

And then comes the knock on the door, and the yell of "Open up!"  
**Cliffhanger... And thanks to Pica Britannica and MaskedMan2 for the lovely comments.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Sorry about the cliffhanger, but I'm back. Mostly. I will try to update. Thanks Pica Britannica and MaskedMan2. BAND GEEKS!**

Courfeyrac steps across the room and grips the handle. He's pale and doesn't look like he's breathing right.

"Open up, I said!"


End file.
